


Buckingham Blowjob

by Acherona, trulywicked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Buckingham - Freeform, John looks good on his knees., M/M, Oral Sex, Sherlock can't stop thinking even during sex, Sherlock's sheet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acherona/pseuds/Acherona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulywicked/pseuds/trulywicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being brought to Buckingham Palace was a surprise, seeing his flat mate in his sheet without any pants was also a surprise but it was nothing compared to the surprise that was still awaiting John on this particular day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buckingham Blowjob

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a very good friend's birthday and she wanted Sherlock in his sheet and a blowjob, we did our very best to comply with her wishes. None of us are British and this is not britpicked. Hopefully you can still enjoy it.

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun_

**Buckingham Blowjob.**

It should be annoying. It should be baffling and infuriating to be picked up by a helicopter from a crime scene Sherlock had lured him out on in the first place. The most disconcerting thing here was that John wasn't annoyed, or infuriated. Mostly he was curious. All this time spent with Sherlock Holmes had definitely been a bad influence. Dr. John H Watson used to be a level headed, gray, unnoticeable man. At least on the surface, there were few people who cared to look underneath and that was precisely the way John wanted it.

Now as he was being shepherded into the heart of the British Commonwealth he couldn't help but wonder what Sherlock had done now. Sure the consultant detective was drawn to trouble like no one else but John had left him safely ensconced at Baker Street. Had spoken to him over the computer until the helicopter had arrived. Sherlock was fast but even he would have had trouble getting into trouble that quickly. Why he would be called to Buckingham Palace of all places now was something John couldn't fathom and he really, actually had to fight down the urge to bow at every doorway. If there was anything that Sherlock had taught him it was that you shouldn't bow. Always keep your back straight or someone will bend it until it breaks. Words to live by that. 

John stopped dead in the next doorway he was herded through, right there on a twin-seat sofa that was probably older than he and Sherlock put together and worth more money than John had ever seen, sat his wayward flat mate wrapped in nothing but his bed sheet. John could actually see Sherlock's long, pale toes, kneading the carpet. He took the seat next to Sherlock on the couch and looked his friend over from the corner of his eye. He wasn't a master of deduction as his flat mate but even John could deduce what had happened. There was a pile of clothes on the table in front of Sherlock after all and John knew everything about Sherlock's stubbornness, he lived with the bloody man, was exposed to it every day as it were.

He looked over at Sherlock again, the sheet was soft and clung to his friend in a way that was borderline indecent. He could see every sleek and wiry muscle shadowed underneath the soft cloth, along with a darker shadow between Sherlock's thighs. John did his best not to look but how was he supposed not to when he had spent more time than was healthy picturing just what his flat mate’s body looked like sans clothing. Right now sitting next to his friend he was even more aware of the other's body, he could practically see the shadows of Sherlock's skin underneath the thin, soft sheet and it made him sweat uncomfortably beneath his shirt and jacket.

After his question if Sherlock was wearing any pants and the negative reply he got, John could feel his chuckles take on a slightly hysterical edge as his mind was assaulted by images and thoughts of a naked Sherlock so close by. He wiped his hands on the fabric of his trousers as he continued to chuckle lightly, keeping small talk with Sherlock and wondering what they were there for and how anyone had managed to get Sherlock Holmes out of Baker Street wearing only his sheet.

Sherlock, for his part, was mostly involved in peering around and attempting to deduce why in God's name he and John had both been absconded to Buckingham Palace. He already knew myriad bits about the royal family that he was certain none of them wanted to get out but why they were there, brought so urgently, was a bit of a mystery. He'd bet his violin Mycroft had something to do with it however. He glanced over at John and studied him in the blink of an eye. Not even an hour ago John had been complaining about his current attire but having no difficulty looking at him over the webcam, yet now he was doing all in his power _not_ to look at him, the tips of his ears were a bit red, and he was shifting a bit uncomfortably. Interesting. John didn't seem the type to lean toward prudish behavior and the man had been in a military unit so he wasn't likely to be uncomfortable with nakedness. So why this reaction?

He spotted Mycroft stepping into the room and made a quip to John that had him laughing in a way that had Sherlock joining in. He tended to do that a lot when John was involved, join in.

Mycroft wore his usual expression, pointy nose toward the ceiling as he asked them to behave like grownups.

John couldn't help but answer back and chuckle at Mycroft's suffering expression and Sherlock's answering amusement. Gods he loved that he could make Sherlock laugh, his laughter could make him feel warm for days.

Unconsciously, John straightened a little bit when another gentleman walked in the room, greeting Mycroft warmly before turning to speak with Sherlock. John still had no clue why he was here but it was okay, this was still more fun than running around in the middle of nowhere with a laptop. He gave the new gentleman, George was it? A polite smile and settled back in the seat to listen to what was said, mostly the two Holmes' brothers bickering.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother and passed John as he started to swan off, the scent rising from John's skin hit him a bit hard right in the face. Clean, fresh air, the outdoors from the trip to the case of the dead hiker but underneath that was a warm, almost musky scent that was just John, just an aroused John. His mind stuttered for perhaps a half a second before he continued walking away like a spoiled brat. When the sheet he was wearing was stepped on he normally would have gone ahead and walked away but the brief moment of smelling John's arousal, obviously caused by _him_ , had triggered a parallel response from his own body and even he, as uncaring of social rules as he was, couldn't go quite so far beyond the pale as to walk around in public with a half erect penis. He stood stiff and still and demanded to either be released or to be told who his client was. Of course Mycroft had to be his insufferable self and point out that he should have already deduced it before demanding he get dressed, again.

George was the perfect gentleman of course, offering Sherlock a room of the side of the parlor they were sitting in to change in private. John found his smile a little too intense, a little too friendly for a man he didn't know at all. It made him squirm in his seat, Queen's man or not. Also another reason he was squirming was of course Sherlock and the sight of a leanly muscled back, fuck, he was so fucked, this was not good at all. He sighed in relief when Sherlock was allowed to wrap the sheet around himself again as he walked back to the table where his clothes were. It didn't matter that this George fellow was directing his smiles at him, John felt unease crawl up and down his spine at the thought of anyone that wasn't him seeing Sherlock naked.

Sherlock carried his clothes into the private room and closed the door, dropping the sheet once he was alone then looking down at himself with an exasperated huff. He was not about to get dressed and then walk out to have a discussion with his brother while half hard. He folded his arms and drummed his fingers against his bicep, waiting for it to go down, yet he kept thinking about how it was a reaction to John and then remembering passing by him in that ridiculous shooing jacket that he wore so well and smelling John aroused because he, Sherlock, was naked under a sheet, and it simply was not going away. If anything it was getting worse. There weren't any tissues in the room and he was not about to wank off into the sheet and have Mycroft mock him about it later, because Mycroft would know, he knew everything the bastard.

God why did John have to smell like that? Why did John have to have a repressed attraction to him? And why the bloody hell couldn't he delete the scent and knowledge of it from his mind? There was a case to be solved, likely a very interesting one considering Mycroft's annoying presence, and he couldn't get an erection to go away thanks to his flat mate. The more he stewed on it the more he found it to be John's fault and, as it was his fault, the more he thought John should be the one to do something about it. "John!"

"Oh pardon me, it seems like Sherlock needs me." John nearly sprang off the couch, thanking all the fates for having a reason to leave this George person and his much too wide and intimate smiles. Of course Mycroft was just as creepy in his own repressed ways and John was more than happy to leave them both behind to go in search of Sherlock. Knowing his flat mate, Sherlock probably already knew what this was all about. John knocked shortly at the door Sherlock had disappeared through before stepping inside. "What Sherlock? You called...Thank you so much for getting me out of there by the way." John grinned, without really meeting Sherlock's gaze.

"Yes I need to take care of this," he gestured to the 'this' casually, noting that upon John's appearance the 'problem' increased.

"What? What in the bloody, buggering fuck are you talking about?" John took a step backwards even as his eyes stayed glued to Sherlock's crotch. He wouldn't have been able to look away even with another semtex vest, strapped to his chest. He wanted to look up and meet Sherlock's gaze but there was no way on earth that he could tear his eyes away now that he had practically been invited to look at what his mind had wondered about for far too long.

"It's your fault so you have to take care of it. I can't stop _thinking_ about how you smell and it's making it worse so it's your fault and your responsibility." Sherlock was actually a bit flattered by the way John couldn't seem to look away and his stiffening penis swelled even more under the doctor's gaze.

"How I smell?" Wonder of wonders, John actually managed to meet Sherlock's gaze for about a second before his eyes were drawn back to Sherlock's shaft, twitching lightly in the air. "I did shower this morning thank you very much. My responsibility you say." John's eyes darted up toward Sherlock's face again. "What exactly do you want me to do about it?"

A dark brow lifted, "How precisely do you normally take care of inopportune erections? I can't masturbate because I could only wipe it off on the sheet and Mycroft would see. I would rather not deal with his attitude in that regard." His silence spoke loudly, saying 'Figure it out.' into the silence of the room.

Equal parts of embarrassment, disbelief, horror and arousal warred inside John. All he could was to stare at Sherlock, his gaze drifting between the man's eyes and his rather generous erection. John licked his lips. "You're actually suggesting that I give you a blowjob...In Buckingham Palace? With Mycroft and creepy man right outside?" John really didn't expect an answer to that, Sherlock had already told him and the man hated to repeat himself, still, it was just so mind boggling that John had to take a moment to try and make sense of things. Of course he failed spectacularly, there was no making sense of Sherlock, the man he'd been dreaming and thinking about for months now asking him to swallow his prick.

Fight or flight...John supposed that was what it came down to. Do or don't. He shrugged to himself, when had he ever chosen the flight option? It wasn't in him to do so.

Figuring it out he dropped to his knees, not very gracefully or elegant but it got the job done, John felt a sliver of satisfaction when he thought he could detect surprise in Sherlock's gaze before he leaned forward and put his tongue to Sherlock's cock.

Honestly he hadn't expected John to capitulate so easily, that he did could only mean that it was something his flat mate had been _wanting_ to do for some time. Just the thought of that combined with the sliding lick John gave his cock suddenly had him so hard it almost hurt. He sucked in a sharp breath and pressed his lips together, biting down on the insides to keep the sounds he suddenly knew he'd be making muffled. He watched John lick at him, his lips rub over the head of his erection in such an erotic image it almost brought him to his knees. He reached out and ghosted his fingertips over John's hair. It was smooth, like fine tiny tubes of glass under his touch and he wondered if that was because of the product John used to keep it laying flat rather than sticking up at odd angles or not. If he were to touch John's hair without the gel would it be soft to the touch? "Nnh," some spectacular little flick of John's tongue severed that thought and brought him right back to paying attention to just how incredibly _good_ John's lips and tongue felt on his cock.

Oh, oh this was nice, yes John could definitely see himself doing this more often if Sherlock would allow him to. He placed an open mouthed, gentle kiss on Sherlock's weeping head, his hands going to naked slip hips before opening his mouth more and sliding it over Sherlock's cock, sheathing him in his mouth. It had been a really long time since John had done this but it wasn't something you forgot. His eyes flicked up to meet Sherlock's as he ever so slowly took more and more of him inside. Sherlock lay heavy on his tongue, hot and silky smooth, John could taste him, could feel Sherlock's pulse and it made him moan. His grip on Sherlock's hip tightened, his eyes slid shut and he started to suck.

He gasped again, unable to contain it and this one had the flavor of John's name on the exhaled air before Sherlock was biting his lips again. The sight of John's lips stretched around him, the sucking heat enveloping his cock, and the almost blissful look on John's face, it was heady and left him scrambling for his thoughts. Of course he knew the science behind arousal and sexual activities and he was well acquainted with the act itself though he rarely indulged in it, but none of his previous experiences had come close to drowning out his thought process. This however, with John sucking at him like there was nothing else in this world that was better, it was special, it shorted out his logic completely and beckoned him to simply fall into sensation and let it overwhelm him. He closed his eyes and did just that, let the sensations John was giving him fill his mind, pushing everything but this out and dear God it was incredible.

John rubbed his tongue against the thick vein on the underside of Sherlock's shaft and sucked harder. He wanted to coax more of those delicious sounds out of Sherlock, wanted to see if he could really make Sherlock moan, buck and lose control. Oh yes, John really wanted all of those things. His own cock was hard and aching, pressing against the unyielding zipper in his trousers but that was okay, it was all fine as long as he could continue to do this. Bobbing his head, John heard the slick, wet slap of Sherlock's balls hitting his chin, the sounds he himself was making. Gods, he sounded hungry and he was too far gone to even feel slightly embarrassed about it. If this was the only chance he would ever have to be this close to Sherlock, to do this to him then he would make the most of it. Try his best to make Sherlock fall apart, give him an experience he would never be able to delete. Shifting his stance a little to get the stiffness out of his knees, John stroked Sherlock's hipbones gently before sliding Sherlock's cock down his throat, feeling curly, soft hair tickle the tip of his nose.

A soft sound like a cross between a whimper and a moan slipped out of Sherlock and his knees went appallingly weak. He bent down a little, his fingers gently drifting over the curve of John's ears and the column of his neck before gripping his shoulders, needing something solid to hold on to and in truth nothing ever seemed more solid than John's shoulders. He shivered and gasped, doing his best to stifle the sounds, keep them soft and low, the vibration of the noises John was making as he sucked him off making his eyes cross. There was nothing in existence now beyond him and John and the incredibly intense pleasure. The world had narrowed down to just this room and them. He half wanted to drop to his own knees and return the favor John was giving him but he was too absorbed in said favor at the moment.

Sherlock was solid underneath his hands, Sherlock's hands were solid on his shoulders and it proved to John that this wasn't just another dream, another fantasy. He wanted to do so much more with Sherlock but right now, at this moment, this was enough. A gasping, nearly boneless Sherlock Holmes was a treat and John planned on savoring it. He pulled off Sherlock's erection and returned to kissing it, down the sides and up again, one of his hands leaving Sherlock's hip to cup his balls instead, rolling them in a warm palm as he once again swallowed Sherlock's cock, actually moaning at both the feeling and the taste.

Sherlock's fingers dug into John's shoulders, the material of the jacket crumpling, and he did whimper this time. "John, God, John please." He wasn't entirely certain what he was begging for beyond something more, even though he was certain that more would utterly destroy the foundations he'd spent a lifetime building, but he wanted it so very, very badly. Badly enough that a litany of whispered pleas just fell out of his mouth in an unending stream. It was so close, so painfully close and he _wanted_ it.

John would always remember his name being said like that, in that deep voice and with that pleading tone. It made him want to give Sherlock everything. He let his tongue swirl around the heated flesh in his mouth before swallowing him deep and humming. As much as he would have liked to draw things out further, to tease and touch and taste, this was not the time or the place. Now he wanted to push Sherlock over the edge and he wanted to be there to catch him, wanted to see firsthand how Sherlock looked when he got completely lost in pleasure.

A soft cry escaped from him, barely muffled as orgasm overwhelmed him and the only thing he was aware of as he spilled into John's throat was just the pleasure. It was almost painful in its intensity, colors never seen even when he'd been on a high flashed across his vision as his knees completely gave out and he slumped, trusting John to keep him from injury. His breath came in wild, heavy pants as he stayed bent over, clutching John like a lifeline, nothing in his mind but an almost static white noise.

John swallowed, something he had never done before but this time he didn't even think about it. Both his hands were back on Sherlock's hips now, keeping him steady and upright as the younger man gasped above him. John was still hard, still aching but this had been about Sherlock. He eased the shaft out of his mouth and breathed deeply hidden beneath Sherlock's body, he didn't know quite what to say now.

As he came down from the utterly mind freezing high, Sherlock's fingers squeezed and released repeatedly where he gripped John, almost kneading as he slowly returned to cognizant thought. He almost wanted to giggle at the absurdity of having just been given a brain scrambling blow job by his, supposedly, very straight flat mate in Buckingham Palace while his brother was in the parlor but he had a feeling that would be, in John's words, a bit not good. He shifted and slid, in a smooth glide, down to the floor in front of John, his face buried in his neck, hands still clutching that ruddy jacket, one knee between John's and his other leg slung over the army doctor's thigh. He felt absolutely boneless and he snuggled as close as he could.

Finding himself with an armful of naked, cuddly Sherlock, John did the only thing he could do...Which was holding on to him. One hand went up to the curly hair at the nape of Sherlock's neck, lightly petting it and the other hand ran up and down Sherlock's long, lean back soothingly.

The stroking grounded him and he closed his eyes to savor it, to imprint it on his memory for now. He might wind up deleting it at a later date depending on how things fell out but for now it was good. It occurred to him that this was one of those moments when some form of gratitude should be expressed. He had just been blown by his flat mate in the heart of the British Nation after all. He shifted lazily, "Thank you."

A brow rose and John fought down an insane urge to chuckle. "You're welcome. The inopportune erection had been dealt with I hope and with no stains on your sheet." His hand was still petting Sherlock's hair gently but he was slowly moving away, not because he wanted to but because they were running out of time and as cuddly as Sherlock was right at the moment, John knew that this could slip into awkward very quickly. John wanted to spare them both that awkwardness.

And just that fast, Sherlock snapped back to his usual rapid fire thought process, his body following, "Yes and quite masterfully at that." He got up and began dressing, sliding the black silk boxer briefs on economically then the shirt, followed by socks, then trousers, then shoes, and finally suit jacket, his mouth rattling things off as he did so. "Obviously our client is Her Highness herself, she wouldn't consult a private detective unless it was an extremely sensitive issue, that means someone in the family has misbehaved and someone, somewhere has proof of it. Apparently she reads your blog," Here was the usual eye roll, "and being as she certainly knows Mycroft she would no doubt assume I am better trusted than those at her immediate command."

"Especially since those in her immediate command has allowed the member of the family to misbehave, showing that they can't be trusted." John hummed and got up from the floor as well. Apparently it was back to business as usual, well that was fine. It was all fine and better than awkward. John could deal with this and Sherlock probably needed the normalcy. "Blimey, it looks like I will be working for Queen and country in the most literal sense of the word then. Well there's a first for everything I suppose. Hopefully this won't get me shot."

"Yes that would be preferably avoided," Sherlock straightened his cuffs, dusted off his shoulders, then looked at John, "Ready to face my brother and the Queen's lapdog?" 

"Ready as I'll ever be." Mycroft and Mr. Creepy weren't exactly on the list of his favorite people to spend time with but at least the tea was good. "Don't forget your sheet." He pushed the white fabric into Sherlock's arms before opening the door, straightening his back and putting his mask firmly on again. "After you then."

Sherlock folded the sheet in short swift movements and strode out, dropping the sheet on a chair before moving to sit on the sofa once again, facing his brother and sprawling out in the corner of the sofa to stare narrowly at his brother, patently ignoring the other man in the room though he was hyper aware of John settling on the sofa next to him. 

Having enjoyed the view of Sherlock walking in front of him, John sat down and smiled a small, polite and apologetic smile at both Mr. Creepy and Mycroft. Wondering silently if Mr. Creepy would have smiled back with too many teeth this time as well if he had known what John had just been doing. Oh gods, what had he been doing? Given a bloody buggering blowjob at Buckingham, that was what. Fuck Sherlock was mad but so was he and he wouldn't change either of them even if he could. He leaned back against the sofa, took a sip of tea for his rather abused throat and got ready to witness Sherlock being brilliant.

**~Fin~**


End file.
